Outercourse
Where’s my free fish,
She asked me again,
where the fish is my friggin’ free fish?
I’d left it on the ledge,
I said,
with the rainbow and the prunes,
maybe the rain came
and washed it away.
Where did you leave all that kindness, she asked,
the kind of which I thought will never dry away?
I’d left it for you
on the garage window-sill
maybe a thief came and
took it away.
Where are your words with the slur and the salt,
where is your tongue with its sly, gilded tip?
I’d left it all for you,
just hanging loose –
maybe ol’ Spot came
and licked it away.
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